Chapter 4 - THE PHOTOGRAPH IN THE LOCKED DRAWER
Teresa had kept Lucia's room untouched.
Not perfectly.
Time had faded the curtains.
Dust had settled on the books.
But the little wooden desk remained beneath the window, and a collection of porcelain horses still lined the shelves.
Norah stood in the doorway the following morning.
She had slept badly.
Roman had offered to send her home with full pay, but she had asked to stay until Teresa was settled.
Now Teresa stood beside a small chest of drawers.
“Lucia loved horses,” she said.
Norah looked at a white porcelain mare.
“She told me that.”
Teresa turned sharply.
“What?”
Norah closed her eyes.
The memory had come back during the night.
The little girl coughing in the smoke.
Her arms wrapped around Norah's neck.
And her frightened voice whispering:
Don't let my horse burn.
“She asked me to save her horse.”
Teresa pressed a hand against her chest.
“Which one?”
“She said its name was Moon.”
Teresa began crying.
She reached toward the shelf and lifted the white mare.
A tiny blue star was painted on its flank.
“Moon,” she whispered.
Roman stood behind them.
He had not slept either.
Norah looked at the toy.
For thirteen years, she had carried the belief that she'd failed a child.
Now the child's belongings surrounded her.
The reality was almost unbearable.
Teresa opened the bottom drawer of Lucia's desk.
Inside were photographs, birthday cards, and a small notebook.
She handed Roman a picture.
Lucia stood between her parents at a summer picnic.
She had dark curls and a crooked smile.
On her wrist was a red string bracelet.
Norah stared.
“I remember that.”
Teresa looked up.
“The bracelet?”
“Yes. It had a little brass bell.”
Teresa nodded.
“Her grandmother made it.”
Roman studied Norah.
“Did the man who took her remove it?”
“I don't know.”
He placed the photograph on the desk.
“We've requested the original fire investigation records.”
Teresa looked at him.
“And?”
“Some are missing.”
Her expression hardened.
“Missing?”
“The evidence inventory references photographs that aren't in the file. The coroner's identification report was amended twice.”
Norah felt cold.
“Why?”
“We don't know yet.”
Roman's phone rang.
Gabriel.
He stepped into the hallway.
When he returned, his face had changed.
“Mother, I need you to sit down.”
Teresa gripped the desk.
“Tell me.”
“Carlo Vescari's death certificate was issued in Florida. There was no autopsy. The funeral was closed.”
Roman paused.
“And the photograph attached to his burial records isn't Carlo.”
Teresa stared.
Norah felt the floor shift beneath her.
Roman continued.
“Someone helped him disappear.”
May you like
Then he looked toward Lucia's photograph.
“And I think he took my sister with him.”
